Three years later, the nights for Melissa Coutu are still the hardest time. She is 41 now, and on her own, living in the small Pawtucket house where she grew up. Kyle was her only child. He was a Marine....

Three years later, the nights for Melissa Coutu are still the hardest time.

She is 41 now, and on her own, living in the small Pawtucket house where she grew up. Kyle was her only child. He was a Marine. He was in a firefight in Afghanistan when it happened.

Melissa got into bed around midnight last Monday and picked up her tablet computer. She opened her current book, “How to Survive the Loss of a Child.” She was at a section called, “Awareness of Loss.” She found it hard to focus and kept rereading phrases: “Give yourself permission to cry. …Keep talking about your child...” She had hoped a book would help her drift off, but as usual, it didn’t work.

She set down the tablet and looked at the picture on the bedstand of her and Kyle. He was 19 at the time. She thought about how handsome he was, light brown hair, big brown eyes and a great smile. That’s what everyone noticed about him.

The picture was from his last visit home before being deployed in January of 2010. Only three weeks later, he was hit by a sniper’s bullet. Melissa will tell you he “passed away” on Feb. 18, 2010. She finds it easier to use that phrase. It happened just days after his 20th birthday.

The bedstand photo got her thinking about Kyle as a boy. He loved pizza and apple pie, though not the crust. He was an adventurous kid, especially at the second home his grandparents owned in New Hampshire. Kyle loved it up there. He was never an expert at one sport, but threw himself into many — skiing, climbing, mountain biking.

It was the same at Tolman High School, where he played football and hockey. His coaches said he was a player who always stepped up.

Melissa knew that’s why he joined the Marines. When she asked, he simply said he wanted to serve his country.

His own dad wasn’t in his life, so his grandfather, Ronald Coutu, served that role. He’s retired from Narragansett Electric and now lives in Florida with Kyle’s grandmother, Janice. They decided to sell the New Hampshire place after Kyle’s loss. There were too many memories up there.

Melissa tried to read for another two hours but didn’t feel tired. She’d used sleeping pills in the past but they left her groggy, so now she just does her best. Finally, around 2 a.m., she got up and decided to do laundry.

The house is off Newport Avenue in the Darlington section of Pawtucket. It’s a working-class neighborhood. Melissa went into the den. Everyone calls it Kyle’s room. It’s where she displays his memories. She treasures them all, but a few more than others.

On one wall, there’s a pair of gloves and dog tags in a glass frame. The gloves are black and green. Kyle was wearing them when he passed away. The tags were in his boot. Marines often keep a second pair there in case the first are lost in a direct hit to the head or upper body.

The tags mention that his religion was Christian. Kyle was raised Catholic and made his confirmation at St. Theresa’s nearby. His faith meant something to him. He even went to church while stationed at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.

He was a private first class and a rifleman. Sometimes, it’s hard for Melissa to remember his whole military designation, but she likes it mentioned in articles because the Corps is a family that pays attention to its branches. So Kyle was in the 3rd Battalion, 6th Regiment, 2nd Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force.

In January of 2010, the “3/6” was deployed to Afghanistan as part of Operation Enduring Freedom — that’s the military’s name for the mission there. Kyle’s regiment was sent to get control of the key Helmand province from the Taliban.

Melissa looked again at the gloves on the wall. She felt proud that her son wore them while fighting for his country.

By now, it was around 3 a.m., and she still wasn’t tired.

She glanced at another wall in Kyle’s room. That one displayed his high school football jersey, number 77. Tolman High retired that number, and gave her the jersey at a ceremony for Kyle. His loss hit the school pretty hard. He was a popular and involved student.

It got Melissa thinking that he could be a prankster, too. One night, she left Kyle home with teen friends and when she came back late, found one of them sleeping in her bed. She was put out and asked Kyle what was going on. He told her to check the bed again. When she did, and saw he’d rigged it to make it look like someone was under the covers.

She smiled at the memory and thought to herself, “He got me that time.”

Her eyes tracked below the jersey to a table with other mementoes. One of them is a statuette of Mother Mary.

“She’s with him now,” Melissa thought. “They’re together.”

On the other wall was perhaps the most treasured of items. It’s a shadow box made by the Marine buddies who were with Kyle when it happened. They gave it to her after returning to the States from their deployment. In August of 2010, they invited families who’d lost a loved one to a memorial service at Camp Lejeune. Melissa flew down with Kyle’s grandparents. Her sister, Jennifer Durkin, came with her husband. So did Jacqueline DaSilva, Kyle’s fiancée.

Now, here in Kyle’s room around 3:30 a.m., Melissa pictured how they were all gathered in the base dining hall. The Marines were in uniform. She was impressed at the deep respect they showed to the families. Many came to the Coutus’ table to express their sorrow. After the dinner, one of the Marines stood to speak. It was an emotional ceremony. At several points, Melissa saw Marines crying.

Then they gave her the shadow box. It had Kyle’s medals, including a Purple Heart. It also had several photos.

One showed Kyle sharing candy with Afghan kids. Another showed a memorial service held for Kyle in the field. To honor him, his buddies had set up the fallen soldier’s battle cross. They had stuck Kyle’s rifle bayonet-first in the ground, placed his empty boots in front of it and his helmet on top of it.

Melissa had gotten a letter from the military telling her how Kyle passed away, but like many family members, wanted to hear face-to-face from those who were there. She remembered asking them about it that night at Camp Lejeune.

The Marines said they were in a firefight and took cover in a small building that was part of a compound. After several hours, they decided to break out, run for cover and engage the enemy.

Kyle, they told Melissa, insisted on being the first out the door. He did go first, turning to the right. The others followed to the left. As they did, Kyle went down.

They carried him back inside. They told Melissa that at first, they couldn’t find a wound. Then they saw he had been shot in the head, almost certainly by a sniper. They told her he died right away and there was no suffering.

A helicopter evacuated him, and days later, the military flew the Coutu family to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware to meet Kyle as he arrived home to America. Melissa was on the tarmac when the aircraft landed. She watched as uniformed Marines carried several coffins out the back. The coffins were covered with American flags. Kyle was the last one off.

And then she remembered the funeral, and how the procession first went by Tolman High, where students were lined up outside so they could wave goodbye to their classmate. They continued on to Rhode Island Veterans Cemetery in Exeter, where the family decided to lay Kyle to rest. She could still picture the mix of snow and rain that came down that day. And how, despite it, hundreds showed up anyway to pay respects to a fallen Marine, many of them strangers.

Around 4 a.m., Melissa went back to her bedroom. This time, as she does many nights, she spoke aloud to her son.

“I miss you, Kyle,” she said. “I love you.”

She told him she was working on the many things set up in his memory, like the PFC Kyle J. Coutu Annual 5K run/walk. It’s held in Slater Park and will take place June 2. She told him how often she visits the field behind Tolman, which was named in his honor.

Melissa worked 18 years as an office manager at an oil recycling firm called Western, and hopes soon to get back to a job, but needs to be focused enough to commit to it.

“I hope you’re proud of me,” Melissa said. “I’m feeling stronger.”

Then, finally, close to 6 a.m., she fell asleep.

She woke four hours later, made coffee and soon after, last Tuesday morning, drove to Kyle’s field. She walked to his memorial corner, marked by two flagpoles and a stone with his name on it. Beneath the name, it says, “KIA Operation Enduring Freedom.” Then his dates: “Feb 15, 1990 - Feb. 18 2010.” Under that it says, “Forever young.”

There was the usual litter around the field, mostly water bottles and papers. Melissa spent over an hour putting everything in trash bags. Then she headed to Home Depot to buy mulch and some perennials. She knew Memorial Day was coming. She wanted Kyle’s field to look especially nice for it. Then she got signs at a printer promoting his 5K race and put them up around Pawtucket.

By the end of the afternoon, she was back to her small Darlington house. Again that night, Melissa found it hard to sleep. As she lay tried to read, she wondered if others realize that this is what it’s like when a loved one passes away in uniform.

Probably not, she thought, but on Memorial Day itself, she would be at the Veterans Cemetery, where she knew she’d see other Gold Star parents who had lost a child in service. She has gotten close with many of them.

They would all be there for a special ceremony. Afterward, they would sit together on folding chairs near the graves.